


This burning need

by ash_carpenter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biting, Bloodplay, Breathplay, Dark Dean, Knifeplay, M/M, Mark of Cain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1600271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ash_carpenter/pseuds/ash_carpenter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is embracing the Mark of Cain and the pleasure of killing, and it scares Sam. But it turns him on too.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Sam had this image in his mind of Dean jerking himself off with blood-soaked hands, corpses cooling beside him like discarded rag dolls.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	This burning need

****  
This burning need  


 

_“It looked to me like you were enjoying it. Maybe too much.”_

_“Killing things that need killing... It’s kind of our job. Last I checked, taking pleasure in that’s not a crime.”_

_9x19: Alex Annie Alexis Ann_

 

The words tumbled through Sam’s mind in maddening, kaleidoscopic freefall, bouncing off the edges of his consciousness like errant pinballs. They kept nudging him back from the promised escape of unconsciousness, leaving him tired, antsy and pissed off, sweating in his toss-turned sheets.

Leaving him horny, too, dick plumping up against his thigh and jolting with the friction every time his restless fidgeting brought it brushing against the mattress.

It was the way Dean had said it, _pleasure_ , his tongue rolling sweetly around the word like he was savouring the taste. It was that look, somehow simultaneously sharp and lust-glazed, promising wicked things in the dark.

It was the choice of phrasing itself. Pleasure. Sam didn’t think it was any accident that he’d selected such a carnal word. Dean took _pleasure_ from killing things, not just satisfaction or vengeance or self-righteous, savage glee. It got him off.

Sam groaned and turned over again, rubbing off against the bed and trying to convince himself that it was unintentional.

He supposed it had been this way for a while. Since the Mark, since Purgatory, maybe since Hell. Dean had always liked killing even before that, but it hadn’t gratified him in the same way. Now... Well. Sam had this image in his mind of Dean jerking himself off with blood-soaked hands, corpses cooling beside him like discarded rag dolls.

It shouldn’t be hot. It _wasn’t_ hot. Sam wouldn’t have confronted Dean at all if he hadn’t been genuinely disturbed by the blazing heat in Dean’s eyes as he’d slowly forced the machete through that vampire’s neck. But. _But_. Sam still had a hard-on and half a mind to slip down the corridor and see how the fuck Dean’s memory foam coped with an extra two hundred pounds getting slammed into it.

Well. Maybe more than half a mind.

Sam barely even found room to be disgusted with himself as he pressed against Dean’s door, cock tight to the wood, and listened for his brother’s breathing. Even before he sidled into the room, he knew that Dean was awake, despite the pantomimed deep exhales and perfectly relaxed posture.

So he wasn’t too surprised when he leaned over Dean’s warm, supine form, relishing the musky scent and second-hand heat, only to find a knife whispering against his throat.

Sam carefully wrapped his large hand around Dean’s wrist, feeling the strong pulse beat against his thumb. Dean’s eyes caught the weak light from the hall, gleaming inhumanly like distant headlamps on a deserted back-road.

“Are you gonna use that?” asked Sam softly, voice breaking just a little as Dean shifted beneath him and a hip grazed his dick.

Dean showed his teeth, eyes narrowing dangerously. Seductively. “Only if you ask me _real_ nice.”

“Fuck, Dean,” breathed Sam, eyes closing against the rush of heat through his belly, the hairs on his arms prickling and standing to attention. He gently pushed Dean’s hand back against the bed, less because the proximity of the blade frightened him than because part of him wanted to lean into the danger.

“Well, I assume that was the idea,” said Dean, free hand reaching up to fist in Sam’s t-shirt while he rocked his hips up in a slow, deliberate grind against Sam’s erection. “But you gotta know that I ain’t in a ‘rolling over’ frame of mind these days. Especially not for you.”

The words stung, as they were meant to, but Sam was used to rolling with Dean’s punches. He’d known when he said it that not being brothers meant something different and devastating to Dean. And in the twisted logic of Dean’s mind, lovers ranked _way_ below family, so he’d known too that Dean would take sex off the table in some bitterly ironic form of petty punishment.

“I know,” agreed Sam, thrusting hungrily against Dean’s groin and not caring how pathetic and eager it made him.

“So you’re here to spread for me?”

“Yeah, if you want it.” He could feel that part of Dean did, at least.

“And how come you wanna be such a good little bitch all of a sudden?” asked Dean coldly, pulling Sam tight to his body via the hard grip in his tee, their faces so close that Dean would be able to taste Sam’s answer.

Whether it was self-flagellation or just the most likely way to convince Dean to fuck him, Sam told him the truth. “When you talked about killing earlier... How much you enjoy it scares me. _You_ scare me. But it’s so hot.”

Dean stared at him for a moment, then a grin slid across his face, sharp like the slash of a razor. Sam grunted as he suddenly found himself on his back, Dean wedged snug between his thighs and using his weight to keep Sam pinned to the mattress. Sam had no idea where the knife was, and the thought gave him a nasty, shivery little thrill.

“Purgatory was one big battlefield,” Dean told him huskily, sliding a hand up his chest and wrapping it softly around his throat. “Benny and I fucked with the blood still cooling on our faces, never knowing if some monster would attack us halfway through. We had to keep hold of our weapons the whole time. Once, a leviathan came outta nowhere, and I took its head off with Benny still sucking my dick. Came so fucking hard.”

“Jesus Christ, Dean,” panted Sam, his heart speeding up as Dean’s grip tightened on his throat. “Just fuck me, okay? Please?”

Dean cocked his head, searching Sam’s eyes in the dim light. He looked deadly, his face deeply shadowed and his jaw hard, as if carved from granite. Sam had been irresistibly, destructively drawn to Dean’s masculine beauty for longer than he could even remember, but he’d rarely wanted him more. The animalistic, hungry glint in his eyes was arresting, making Sam’s stomach knot with need and anticipation.

“If I do it, that’s all you’re getting from me. I mean it. If you don’t come on my dick, that’s your problem.”

Shivering with lust, thinking that it was unlikely to be an issue, Sam nodded. As he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbed against Dean’s constricting hand, and he pushed into the touch. “Do it.”

Dean reached between them and pulled at Sam’s pants, yanking them down until Sam could kick them off and away. He simply drew his own cock out from the slit in his boxers, also taking the opportunity to shove Sam’s thighs wider. Then he brought his hand to his face and spat vulgarly into his palm.

Sam knew that Dean had lubricant in his drawer, and also that he wasn’t going to take the effort to reach for it. He was definitely in the mood to enjoy inflicting a little pain – and with his trademark self-righteousness, he maybe even thought that he was entitled to it. Or perhaps he was simply deep enough into this dark and disturbing, whisky-fuelled spiral that had been coming for so long that Sam couldn’t really tell when it had begun.

As Dean rubbed the spit over his cock, knuckles brushing against Sam’s own needy and leaking erection, Sam keened and arched against him.

Dean’s hand squeezed warningly against Sam’s throat and he gasped, eyelids fluttering. He let his legs fall even wider apart and tried to relax and stay still as the head of Dean’s dick slid back behind his balls.

“Do you ever let anyone else fuck you?”

“W-what? No,” stammered Sam, forcing the words out. “Of course not.”

“Then the last time was before the Trials. It’s gonna hurt.”

“I know. Don’t stop.”

“Oh, I wasn’t going to,” said Dean, suddenly thrusting his hips forward and punching right through the resistance to get inside.

Sam cried out through gritted teeth, whole body tensing and tendons in his neck straining. Dean hadn’t screwed him once he started getting sick, and had barely touched him at all while Gadreel was in residence – although Sam hadn’t understood at the time why he’d shied away  – and he was right that it _hurt_. But being hurt by Dean was exactly what Sam wanted right then, twisted though he knew that to be.

Once Dean was fully seated, rocking into Sam to loosen him up, he released his throat. Sam coughed, feeling the tight spots of pain that would darken to smudgy, obvious bruises by the morning. Dean moved his hand up to grip Sam’s hair, pushing his inner forearm against Sam’s cheek. Sam hissed and flinched.

“You feel that? The heat? Cain’s Mark _burns_ all the time. It burns me on the inside too, drives me insane. I feel hot and angry and urgent – and all I wanna do is take a knife to something. I have this itch, this need, the whole damned time. I just...wanna...kill.”

“Oh shit. How do you stand it?” asked Sam. He swore that he could feel the Mark scorching into his face, thin lines of pain glowing with heat. When he tried to pull away, Dean slapped his other hand to Sam’s face to hold him still, pressing his forearm tighter to Sam’s cheek.

“It’s not real,” Dean told him. “You’re not gonna get branded – hot though that would be. And as for how I stand it?” He fucked hard into Sam, jolting him against the mattress. Sam could feel the sheets pulling free, rumpling beneath his sweating back. “I kill everything that comes into our path – fast and bloody. And I enjoy it.”

Sam bit his lip to stifle a groan and squeezed Dean’s hips between his thighs. His dick was trapped between their bodies, catching on Dean’s boxers, but his sweet spot was getting pounded with a deep, rough friction that made his head spin.

Dean leaned down and Sam tried to strain up in expectation of a kiss. Dean snorted derisively and pushed his face sideways into the pillow, latching onto his throat and biting him hard. Sam cried out, dick pulsing out pre-come as he arched into the pain. Dean had never really been a biter, but there was no doubt that he was in touch with his base, animal side right now, everything visceral and feral. He wanted to own Sam completely, and mark him up so it couldn’t be glossed over or forgotten in the morning.

When Dean finally drew his mouth away, it was bloodied. Sam gasped at the sight of Dean’s plush lips and even teeth stained red – and Dean smiled wickedly at him. Although he still didn’t deign to kiss Sam, he did press their mouths hard together, licking over the seam of Sam’s lips so that he could taste the metallic tang of his own blood.

“I like the way you taste.”

Sam stared at him, eyes glazing as need poured through him like warm whisky. “Fuck me harder.”

“Sorry, buddy, but you ain’t running this show,” said Dean, pressing Sam’s hips to the bed when he tried to take some control over the movement. “I thought we were clear that this is a lay back and take it kind of a deal for you?”

“Dean, please,” groaned Sam, hooking his legs around Dean’s ass and pulling him deeper.

Dean smacked his thigh with a loud crack that echoed through the room and made him yelp. But he did start pumping harder, the bed shivering in its frame and Sam’s back burning against the sheet.

Sam let his head fall to the side as Dean licked up his neck and to his ear, biting at his jaw and the lobe. He tried not to whimper and curse when Dean blew intimately over the shell and murmured, “Next time we’re driving to a hunt, and I’m all hard, jacked up for the kill, you’re gonna blow me.”

“Fuck, yeah, okay,” breathed Sam, clenching around Dean.

“I wasn’t asking.”

Sam tried to hang on for the ride when Dean started pounding into him even more forcefully, but Dean snatched up his wrists and pinned them to the bed, nails digging sharply into the vulnerable skin. It turned Sam on even more, particularly since it was so unfamiliar. The only place Dean _didn’t_ tend to play the alpha male was in the bedroom and Sam wasn’t used to being ordered around, restrained or made to submit. Frankly, he was more used to being worshipped, and the shift lit up a previously untapped fuse of need.

His brother just looked so... _dangerous_ , swathed in shadow and tricky light that gave his eyes a fiery and menacing glint. And his hands, his brutal killer’s hands, were hard and unrelenting against Sam’s skin.

When one slid back up to wrap again around Sam’s throat, the world pitched alarmingly and Sam’s body exploded with adrenaline, the fear and lust all tangled hopelessly together. All he could think was _he could kill me_ , over and over, of all the ways the Dean could end his life if he wanted to – instantaneous or slow, clean or bloody. He trusted a stone cold murderer to keep him safe every day, which could only make sense for a man whose very existence was a continual flirtatious dance with death.

“God, Dean, fu-... Oh, shit, _please_ ,” babbled Sam, fighting against Dean’s hold just to feel those exquisite hands tighten cruelly. His orgasm was already spinning wildly through him before he even realised that it was coming. Pleasure racked his body, honed to an almost tortuous degree and slicing devastatingly through him in a white-hot rush that left fireworks exploded behind his eyelids until red and black bloomed and swallowed him.

He came to maybe seconds, maybe minutes later, dizzy and vaguely aware that he’d missed Dean coming. His throat was tight and sore, every swallow full of glass, and Dean studied him inscrutably for a moment before gracefully rolling off and to the side. Sam winced at the raw chafe as Dean left him, taking inventory of the various hurts of his bliss-lax body.

Finally, he turned to face Dean. He didn’t know what he expected or wanted, but maybe it was just to check that there was humanity back in Dean’s eyes.

 “Dean, we should –”

“Sam, don’t start. You got what you came for.”

“That’s not what... Well, yeah, okay. But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk.”

Dean’s voice was cold, but Sam could hear volumes beneath it. “You show up in my bed in the middle of night, begging to get fucked, like you’re entitled to something – and then you want to _share_? Or, no, let me guess: you want to talk about all the ways I’m messed up and the Mark and Blade are affecting me. You probably want to ‘help’ me. Now that you’ve got off on the fact that they turn me into some bloodthirsty warrior, of course. Fuck you, Sam. You don’t get to pick and choose when you care about me.”

“Dean...”

“Get out. I don’t want my bed remembering you.”

Sam sighed. At least he knew that Dean was still fully human, otherwise he couldn’t possibly be so bitter and stubbornly holier-than-thou: he was still hurting badly about what Sam had said, overly hostile and compensatory like an injured junkyard dog.

But he knew Dean better than anyone. And what he unexpectedly heard, underneath all the overt aggression, was fear. And his brother had _never_ kicked him out before, no matter how bad things had been.

Speaking quietly into the dark, knowing he only had a chance of getting a response if it felt secret and unreal to Dean, something that didn’t need to be faced in the cold light of day, Sam said, “I know you don’t like me so much right now. Honestly, the feeling’s mutual. But deep down, under all the self-pity and shit you’re wallowing in, you know that I care about you. So, for one minute, quit being a jackass and tell me what’s wrong.”

Dean was silent for so long that Sam wasn’t sure he was going to get an answer. But finally, reluctantly, Dean spoke into the night, the words sending icy fingers trailing down Sam’s spine while fire bloomed once more in his belly.

“I’m not safe to sleep with, Sammy. My dreams... I threw the knife on the floor so there was no temptation, but I’ll find it while I’m sleeping. I wake up every day with it or some other weapon in my hand. All I want is the Blade, but apparently I’ll take what I can get. And if you’re in here with me, all warm and vulnerable... I’m scared of what I might do.”

Sam couldn’t stifle a groan, and he took a moment to marvel at how truly messed up he was.

Dean laughed, a dark edge creeping into the sound. “Want me to fuck you again before you go?”

“Yes,” answered Sam truthfully. “But you’re freaking me out, man. Tomorrow we’re gonna start researching how to get that Mark offa you.”

“I don’t want it offa me.”

“I know,” said Sam, reaching over to pull Dean back on top of him, spreading his aching thighs to make room. “That’s what scares me the most.”

 

 

THE END


End file.
